


Delicately Hidden Truths

by towel_42



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Older Woman/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:07:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towel_42/pseuds/towel_42
Summary: In which Andy and Miranda gradually come to a shared realization.





	1. Eat Your Yogurt, Please.

Andy fumbled her way down the hallway toward Miranda's office, head deep in paperwork. She drew up alongside Nigel and Miranda in quiet conversation outside the editor's door, ready to hand Miranda her latest notes on this month’s Letter from the Editor.As she pulled it out of the stack of papers in her arms, her head turned instinctively toward Miranda's desk.

"Really???" she said loudly, eyebrows up to her hair line. " _Really_ , Miranda? You said you would eat that yogurt two. hours. ago. Two hours!" She continued muttering under her breath as she stalked into the office, threw her papers into one hand, grabbed the yogurt and spoon with the other, then walked back and thrust them at Miranda. "What are you, a toddler? Do I have to spoon feed you?"

Miranda, her signature single eyebrow raised just as high as Andy's two, took the cup and spoon gracefully, as if to say she had no idea why in the world _anyone_ would be raising such a _fuss_ over a simple cup of _yogurt._

"You know she's right," said Nigel. "The doc said you need to watch your blood sugar."

As Andy stalked off shaking her head, Miranda, leaning against the doorway, pulled the spoon from her mouth to remind her, "I can still have you fired in five seconds flat, you know."

Not bothering to turn around, Andy threw her hands up toward the ceiling. "Oh, _please_! If _only_ God would be so good!"

Nigel smirked. Miranda simply pursed her lips for a moment then looked down and continued working on her healthy snack.

Miranda seemed to have somehow mellowed over the course of the two years that Andy had spent at Elias Clarke. She was calmer, that much was certain. And the deep wrinkles of worry in her forehead had softened.

No one questioned Andy and Miranda's relationship anymore. They were unusually close, and at first there were some whispered questions, but once it became evident that a Miranda with Andy by her side was a much calmer, gentler Miranda, the office collectively nodded their heads and gladly accepted the new normal.Where Miranda went, Andy went, and late nights at the office gradually became late nights at Miranda's townhouse, where Andy would head ostensibly to help with some revisions to the Book and would likely as not be cajoled into revising essays with the twins instead.

The editor and her Girl Friday seemed to have accepted the new normal without question as firmly as the rest of the staff, and possibly for the same reason - to question how it happened, why it happened, or what it all meant could be to upset the apple cart. And who needed bruised apples all over the floor? No, a state of firm denial was often the healthiest choice when facing a pile of delicately balanced truths carefully positioned to hide the most uncomfortable facts.

But there were times when Andy's confidence in her place in Miranda's world could become shaken. Andy didn't like this uncomfortable feeling, but nor did Miranda like having an uncomfortable Andy. Generally, situations righted themselves even if it meant one party had to bend a bit more than they were accustomed to.

Andy was updating her contacts list late one Friday evening when Miranda stepped out of her office. She had changed in her private bathroom, and it was evident to Andy that she was headed out on the town."Hot date, huh?"

Miranda shrugged, "Just Daniel. Dinner." The casual reply was almost too casual. Miranda wasn't surprised when she noticed Andy's shoulders tighten up at the mention of Daniel's name.

Andy knew the twins were on Long Island with their father. Often on a night like this, Andy and Miranda would find some excuse to move their work to the townhouse, and then move from work to a black and white movie in the family room. (This despite Andy's complaints that she wanted to watch Twins, or better yet, Men in Black II, and when would she get to pick the movie anyway, it was 2016 and the workers’ rights movement had made progress in some areas of the country; Miranda would simply shrug, hiding a small smirk as she passed the popcorn to Andy.)

But tonight Miranda was obviously otherwise occupied. And it did not fail to occur to Andy that, with the twins out of town, there was nothing to stop Daniel (she sneered inside whenever she silently said the name) from busting out his best moves and spending the night at the town house. This bothered her, but Andy didn't stop to ask herself why. She was too busy trying to ignore the pit in the center of her stomach and the headache that was building. He annoyed her, that was all.

Miranda reached for some files on Andy's desk and began to flip through them, looking for a set of photos of a Hermès scarf taken on one of Jeff's better days behind the camera. A sideways glance towards her junior editor told her that she was still less than happy with her. Miranda asked Andy a few questions about some appointments scheduled for the following week, and reluctantly noted Andy's short, stilted responses. She sighed, and decided that fixing whatever was wrong would have to wait until Monday when she had more time and energy.

Miranda scooped up her photos, shrugged into her coat and said goodnight. Andy didn't look up as she replied with the same.

Moments like this unsettled Miranda. As she waited impatiently for the elevator, she resisted the strong urge to turn around, head back to the office, and _insist_ that Andy tell her exactly what was wrong, right this minute. If she was truthful with herself (she wasn't), she would admit why it was that Andy was obviously not happy with the fact that she was dating Daniel. She could readily admit that Andy certainly wasn't a fan of her new beau - but not the real reason for it. Miranda told herself it was because Daniel was a Republican (Andy actually called him the The Rethuglican right to her face, and more than once). But Andy had had no real objection to him when they first started dating. No, it was only when the dates became more frequent (and began occurring on the weekends, which was usually family time that included Andy), that she noted Andy's increasing displeasure.

* * *

As she rode the subway home that night, Andy drove all thought of Daniel out of her head. She ignored Lily's texts to join them at the bar, and opened Netflix and a bottle of wine instead. She was halfway through some Hugh Grant claptrap, as Miranda called any rom com that Andy suggested they watch, when her phone started to ring.

Miranda's ringtone on Andy's phone was set to Emperor Palpatine's score, as played on a Casio keyboard. Miranda rolled her eyes whenever Andy left her phone on the desk and she heard the signature ring that had been chosen for her as she tried to reach her assistant from her abutting office. If Andy happened to walk back into her office at just that moment, she would beam triumphantly as she saw Miranda snap her phone shut, eyes shooting heavenward at the offending tune. The twins adored the ringtone, and would often grab their mother's phone when Andy was over and call Andy just to hear it. They would giggle, and Miranda would bark at them to cut that out and mutter something about underlings who didn't know their place and were inappropriate and rude instead of respectful and grateful for a good job. But still, she would throw a sly sideways glance toward Andy, who would inevitably be giggling along with the twins, oblivious to Miranda's attention but obviously utterly delighted as always about the shared joke. Miranda would never admit how much the moment pleased her. Nor would Andy admit why the ringtone pleased _her_ so much. No one else would ever tease Miranda so openly. But she could, and she could do it with impunity. It was a small yet significant piece of proof to the quality of their relationship, a marker to the world that they were more than simply employer and loyal employee. That she had a place special enough in Miranda's life that she could, heaven forbid, lovingly mock her. That was something even her string of husbands had failed to do successfully, and yet Andy and Miranda didn't question the uniqueness of their friendship and the qualities that made it so different from any of Miranda's other relationships, past or present.

Andy answered her phone, frowning. It was Miranda, of course. And she was drunk.


	2. Gotta Keep the Squad Happy

It was the slight slur that gave it away. It didn't happen often, a tipsy Miranda, but when it did, Miranda could be a bit of a handful. (Though who was she kidding, Andy thought, Miranda was always a bit of a handful, champagne or no.)

"Andrea, where _are_ you?"It was Andy’s turn to roll her eyes.

"I'm at home. Where did you expect to find me? And what the heck are you doing calling me at a quarter to one? Miranda, is everything all right?"

There's a brief silence, and Andy actually envisions Miranda scanning whatever room she happens to be in looking for something that doesn't meet her approval so she could manufacture a reply to Andy that might make some sort of sense. This is one of those moments, too brief to even be conscious, when Andy can read Miranda's need for her - a need that obviously goes deeper than her editorial skills. But still, she doesn't consciously make the link between this dependence and the possibility of deeper feelings. She just feels an empathy and warmth which makes it possible for her to not only tolerate this late night phone call but to, in a way, welcome it. Plus, she knows Miranda will likely remember at least *some* of this in the morning, which means she'll be extra pliable for a day or two next week.

"Miranda?"

Silence.

"Where are you?"

"At my housh, where did you expect to find me?" (Touché, thought Andy.)

“Are you ok?”

“I can’t find the Bobbseys' Christmas list.It was right here where I keep my recipes. They’ll be very upset if it’s lost. I’ve told Cara time and time again not to move things, but she insists on “cleaning up,” although what her idea of clean is I’ll just never know.” Miranda was sounding increasingly agitated.

“Miranda, is Daniel with you?”

“Of course not, I sent him home. But that’s not important. I can’t find my list. Just for once, Andrea, could you please stick to the subject of primary importance? I…. I…” she trailedoff.

“Miranda, listen. I'm coming over. Just sit down somewhere. Make yourself a cup of tea. Actually, don’t try to make yourself anything, just sit tight. And don't try to go upstairs! Remember what happened last summer when you came home from Bernie's Fourth party."

"Oh, please!Really, Andrea!"

"Yeah, yeah, just try and stay out of trouble for twenty minutes, ok?I'll be right there."

And just like that, Andy pulls on some sweats (she'll be damned if she's going to dress up for this) and hops in a cab.

She lets herself into the house and enters a darkened front hallway.A glow from the kitchen draws Andy down the hall, but she pauses when she spots a shape on the sofa in the study. She steps inside and reaches toward a small desk lamp just inside the doorway. Sure enough, the soft light reveals a tuft of silver hair peeking out from beneath a blanket.

Andy quietly makes her way over to the couch and sits next to Miranda’s sleeping form. Miranda’s shoes are off, but her legs are uncovered so Andy pulls a second blanket from the back of the sofa and does a thorough job of tucking her in. Then she heads toward the kitchen and returns with a tall glass of water and some Tylenol that she leaves on the coffee table within Miranda’s reach. She considers waking her up to make her drink a glass of water, but can’t bring herself to disturb her.

Andy sits down once more, pulled toward the sleeping woman. She is fascinated by Miranda’s face, uncharacteristically peaceful. She knows Miranda wouldn’t abide by her sitting and staring at her, but you know what, she’s not the one who called her at one in the morning, so Andy thinks indulging in a little curious observation is within her rights.

Miranda’s eyes slowly blink open. “What are you doing here?” Drunk or not, in the moment she knows full well what brought Andrea to her door, but hell will freeze over before she will acknowledge that.

“Nothing.” Andy motions to the glass. “Will you drink some water?” Miranda turns her head and reaches for the glass and takes a sip, then falls back and throws her arm over her eyes. Her other hand, stretched out along the edge of the couch, hesitantly reaches out toward Andrea. When she finds her leg, she lets three fingers rest there against it. Andy lets her own hand drop down next to Miranda’s, her gently curved fingers just touching the back of Miranda’s hand. They sit there, unmoving, until Andrea can hear the quality of Miranda’s breathing change and she knows she’s fallen asleep again.

For a brief moment, Andy thinks about pulling back the covers and slipping in alongside Miranda instead of heading back out into the cold night. She shakes her head at the absurd thought and laughs softly. She sits there for another minute before she sighs and gets up to leave, turning off the study light and turning on a small light in the bathroom down the hallway in case Miranda wakes in the middle of the night.

 

* * *

“My head feels as though a freight train ran over it, then backed up to do it again, more thoroughly. Do you know anything about this?”

Andy laughed quietly and replied innocently, “Hmmm, I wonder what could be causing that? So strange, so strange….” She heard Miranda sigh and shift on the other end of the phone, letting out a small groan. Andy winced in sympathy. “You should have something to eat. Toast, maybe.”

“Hmmm,” murmured Miranda. “I’m going to wait for the Tylenol to kick in before I get up.”Andy knew that was the closest she was going to get to an acknowledgement or thank you. Whether she remembered it or not, Andy knew Miranda would have seen the time stamp on her last phone call and put two and two together.

“So where did you guys go last night?”

“La Grenouille. I was bored, the wine was good, and drinking aggressively seemed like a better option than simply sitting there listening to Daniel complain about the bond market.”

“So not a Friday night for the record books, huh?” Andy pointedly ignored the wave of relief and pleasure she felt at the idea that Miranda found the Rethuglican boring. In any event, she profoundly agreed.

The fact that Andy didn’t take the opportunity to give her a hard time about calling her in the middle of the night was not lost on Miranda. On occasion, she felt a modicum of guilt about the things Andrea put up with, and she certainly should be embarrassed about drunk dialing her junior editor at such a late hour, but Miranda tended to quickly deflect uncomfortable feelings as unnecessary obstructions to simply moving forward in the most expedient fashion possible. The important thing at the moment was that Andrea was no longer irritated with her. Their twin planets were back in synchronous orbit.

The most adept psychoanalyst would have been hard pressed to get Miranda to admit why drunk Miranda called Andy that night. Her most likely response would be that it was of course a knee-jerk reaction, to pick up her phone and call the one person she called the most, all day long. That there was nothing more to it than that. And that Andrea was ridiculous to have worried and actually come over to check on her. Miranda would never admit to herself or anyone else that drunk Miranda knew full well that Andrea would indeed drop everything and come over. And did drunk Miranda somehow also know that the late night intrusion would not exacerbate Andy’s earlier irritation with her, but would soothe it? Sometimes drunk Miranda was just smarter than not-drunk Miranda. But these weren’t thoughts that sober Miranda was having.

Headache aside, relatively sober Miranda simply considered this morning’s outcome a generally resounding success as she surveyed the rest of the weekend that lay ahead, no longer spoilt by the prospect of an unhappy Andrea awaiting her on Monday morning.

After that weekend, Daniel wasn’t so much as mentioned again. After a couple of weeks of his conspicuous absence from Miranda’s social calendar, Andy even went so far as to inquire as to his health and whereabouts . Miranda sniffed and asked why on earth she should know. “Really, Andrea, just because I date a man a few times doesn’t mean I’m suddenly his keeper. He could be in Timbuktu for all I know.”

“Hey, I hear there’s a Diane Arbus retrospective at the MoMA. Cassidy would love it. Should we take them on Saturday?”

“Well, I don’t see why not.”

* * *

The motley troop exited the Museum of Modern Art and headed north at full pace. “Squad, roll out!” yelled Caroline. Cassidy rolled her eyes (her mother’s daughter) and punched her sister in the arm. “Girls!” said Miranda.

They made a beeline toward what the twins called the ‘stone slide playground.’ According to Miranda, the girls were way too old to be grabbing pieces of cardboard and attempting to careen down the slide fast enough to wipe each other out at the bottom. (“Who knows where that’s been,” was their mother’s mantra every time they entered the Billy Johnson playground and ran for the paper detritus left by other, equally excited children.)And yet here they were, once again.

“Mom, you have to come down with us this time.”

“Yeah, you haven’t done it in years! Andy does it all the time. Don’t you want to be as cool as Andy, mom?” Caroline is shuffling through a pile of discarded cardboard to find the perfect piece, sure to send her flying off into space, while Cassidy runs recklessly up alongside the slide itself like a mountain goat, dodging toddlers as she foregoes the altogether too civilized steps.

“I’m sure no one could be as ‘cool’ as Andrea. I wouldn’t dream of trying,” drawled Miranda, as she watched Andy hopping on one foot trying to look at the bottom of her other sneaker to determine if she had indeed just stepped on a big ol’ wad of gum. She had.

While Andy poked at her Chuck T with a stick, Miranda collected the various articles the twins tossed at their mother and Andy as they divested themselves of anything that might slow them down on the slide.

“Andy, take a video! I’m going down standing up!”

“You are not, Cassidy Priestly! I forbid it!” barked Miranda in the general direction of the long line of hooligans waiting to go down the slide.

“Aw, mom, you’re such a drag. Chill out for once.”

Andy’s eyes crinkled with pleasure as she imagined a Runway employee throwing the same shade at Miranda at a weekly layout meeting. Chill out, indeed. They’d be chilling in a freezer in the morgue, most likely. But those kids…god, she loved them. And Miranda’s seemingly infinite patience with them. Sometimes *too* infinite, but, well…

Miranda was moving toward the slide in an attempt to reinforce with laser eyes her last directive to Cassidy when all of a sudden, Andy noted a stumbling man (drunk? high?) teetering in her direction, just out of Miranda’s range of vision. Andy jogged forward to cut him off at the pass.

Miranda was startled as Andy bumped into her and threw an arm out to shift Miranda slightly behind her. Andy drew her chin up and thrust her other arm out at the approaching figure.

“Hey, hey, no need to get all hot,” he slurred.

Andrea’s nostrils flared. “Back off.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he held one hand up as though fending off an attack. The other he kept in his coat pocket. “Sister, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m just enjoying this lovely playground.”

Caroline hit the bottom of the slide at that moment, and jumped up to join them. “What’s the matter Andy? Who is that?”

Andy didn’t take her eyes off the man, who stood a little distance from the group. In fact, she began to move toward him.Miranda jumped forward and grabbed her coat. “Andrea!”

Andy yanked her coat away without even a backward glance and moved aggressively toward the stranger.

“Get. Out. Now.This is a children’s playground. I see no child with you. Get out.”

“Who died and made you queen?” The man tripped over his own feet as he swayed toward the exit, then back toward the slide, unable to quite make up his mind as to the best course of action.

Andy pulled her phone out of her pocket and spoke. “Siri, call 911.”This seemed to make up his mind, as his final sway had him meandering in half-loops toward the playground gate.

They watched him leave. “Wow, Andy, you looked scary!” Caroline looked surprised. And somewhat impressed.

Miranda, on the other hand, looked white. She pursed her lips and said nothing. Cassidy arrived and began chattering with her twin, getting caught up on all the drama as they peered after the man.

“Girls, let’s go. It’s time to go home.”

“Aww, mom!”But one look at their mother’s face and they each grabbed their coats from her and shrugged them on begrudgingly.

* * *

It was becoming increasingly obvious to Andy that she was in the doghouse. They were halfway home and, coming down off the adrenaline rush of the earlier confrontation, she was now keenly aware that someone in the squad was not happy. To say the least.

“I’m sorry, Miranda.” A pause. “Miranda. I’m sorry.”

No response. She waited.

“He might have a had a knife in that pocket. How were you to know? Why must you _insist_ on just throwing yourself into dangerous situations whenever they present themselves? Riding the subway at 2 am last month only to get _accosted_ , and now this…”

“Oh Jesus, am I ever going to stop hearing about that stupid subway ride? That guy couldn’t even stand up, he wasn’t going to-”As Miranda’s eyes (and nostrils) began to widen, Andy immediately realized her mistake. She shut her mouth, quickly. She only hoped it wasn’t too late.

“Ok, ok, yes, you’re right. That was stupid. I didn’t need to do that. I could have gotten help and just steered us away from him. Yes.” She glanced up at Miranda walking next to her, but Miranda’s head remained ramrod straight. ‘I can’t even look at you right now,’ was the clear message.

“But Miranda, he was heading right for you…” (Andy knew she was starting to whine a little, but she couldn’t help it. And hey, she was the hero here! Well, in some other people’s books, she might be the hero here.) “You know I wasn’t just going to stand there and let him touch you.” Andy was staring angrily down at her Chuck Taylors now, growing incensed again at just the memory of that asshole thinking he was going to wander over to Miranda and…do what? She didn’t know, but she’d be damned if she-

Miranda interrupted Andy’s internal bickering with a loud huff. “Andrea.” She looked at her now. “Andrea, please be more careful. Please.”

Andy looked up. “Ok. Ok, I will.” Miranda’s eyebrows raised slightly, in question. “I promise.” Miranda gave a single nod and turned to face forward again.

Well, thought Andy, sometimes you gotta take one for the squad. She sighed.


	3. Pizza and Mario Kart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This brief chapter uses some lines cherry-picked from a sweet fanfic that I’m sure many of us thoroughly enjoyed. Who can find them and tell us the name of the fic?

What else could a successful day full of adventure - and fraught with just a touch of danger - be capped with, but pizza and Mario Kart? While the twins and Andy shouted at the screen and each other, “I can’t believe you just threw that at me! Did you just throw that at me?!!What was that anyway, a turtle?” Miranda roamed the play room, scooping up sweatshirts and orphaned puzzle pieces and fruit rollup wrappers. The twins had had a sleepover with two friends the night before, and the room was still strewn with body pillows and blow-up mattresses.

The three drivers were sprawled across the carpet on their bellies, ignoring Miranda except for the occasional shout when she lingered too long in someone’s line of vision.

Suddenly, Andrea dropped her controller and threw her arms out in front of her, palms up, throwing a look of sheer disbelief at Miranda. “Did you see that? Did you see that? No remorse. None. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t turn out to be a serial killer.” Miranda admonished her with a properly horrified, “Andrea!” Andy just raised her eyebrows and shrugged as if to say, “What? You don’t like the truth around here?” Caroline wore a smug side-smile as she coasted to the finish line in first place.

Organized protests began over who would choose the next race when, without warning, Miranda walked over to the TV cabinet and un-plugged the Switch. The twins and Andrea let out identical screams of horror.

“You three need to begin cleaning up this mess.  Meryl will cut our thumbs off if she sees even one Skittle on the floor.”

“I can’t believe you did that, Mom! We only had one race left!”

Miranda was unimpressed. “I’ve heard that before. It’s almost 10:30. You need to wrap it up.”

“Since you ruined our race, can we make s’mores with the mini blow torch again?” Cassidy was ever the optimist, and never one to let waters go untested.

“Absolutely not.”

“But Andy let us!” Caroline was quick to support her twin in any military engagement.

“And she is very sorry that she ever made such a foolish and dangerous decision, isn’t she, Andrea?” 

Andrea made a decidedly indecisive face. “I handled the blow torch myself?” Andy offered, taking a page from Cassidy's book. It never hurt to remain optimistic.

Miranda shook her head and frowned, hands on her hips. “You are all two minutes away from being grounded for the rest of the weekend.” The twins groaned in concert and began picking odds and ends up off the floor, in agonizing slow motion. 

Thirty minutes later, the family room was close to civilized and the twins were brushing their teeth. 

“So…I’m grounded?” Andrea’s face was planted on the TV, which was featuring a Dolly Parton Christmas special. Miranda was folding blankets.

“Yes. You’ll be lucky if you have a job on Monday.”Miranda met Andy’s eyes, half-lidded and drowsy from the exertions of the day, but still full of mirth. She shook her head good-naturedly and sighed. “You’re worse than the two of them combined.” Andy let slip her own side-smile, demonstrably proud of her ability to match the twins in mischief-making.

Another half hour later, Miranda found herself pulling a heavy blanket over Cassidy and Andy. Cassidy was half supported by a body pillow twice her size, and had thrown her other half across Andy, who was on her back on a blow-up with a pillow beneath her head, dead to the world, one arm around Cassidy’s shoulder. Caroline was nearby, equally comatose but facing the opposite direction.When Miranda was satisfied that she had all of her troublemakers safe and warm, she leaned down and kissed Caroline on the cheek, then pushed Cassidy’s hair off her forehead and did the same. She stood for a minute next to Cassidy and Andy before finally bending down and gently pressing her lips to Andy’s forehead, then pausing to watch her resting face for just a moment. She padded out of the room.

If Miranda had looked back as she turned off the light and closed the door, she would have met Andy’s gaze, fixed on her, serious and unreadable.


	4. Purple Glasses and Red Pens

It was late afternoon in the Priestly household. After a lengthy meeting with a new designer in the garment district, Miranda had Roy drop them off at the townhouse rather than the office to finish up their day. Andy was sitting on one end of the living room couch, polishing up her meeting notes on her laptop, legs draped over Patricia who was lying on the floor in front of her. Miranda had commandeered the rest of the sofa. In gray trousers and a soft white button down, she lay on her back with her bare feet up on the far armrest, knees bent, and the back of her head resting against Andy’s thigh. She had her purple reading glasses on, with several fashion magazines open across her stomach and one propped up in front of her.

The unmistakeable sounds of the twins’ arrival from dance class signaled the end to a peaceful work session. The girls burst into the room chattering about school, and immediately pounced on Andy, demanding her opinion on a very serious lunch hour disagreement with two other girls who sat at their table. Something about charm bracelets, and who had started wearing them first. While Caroline set the foreground for the complex drama by explaining the lunch table layouts in great detail, Cassidy tried squeezing between Andy and the armrest, and Andy groaned with her weight. “Watch Patricia!” she cautioned.

As Cassidy settled in, Andy put her left arm around her, and her right hand fell next to her on the sofa. It landed against Miranda’s head, with one finger just barely resting against her neck, below her hairline. Andy could feel the heat of bare skin. She kept up her chit chat with the girls. “Well, you know, you could both be setting a good example at school, maybe by not participating in all this gossip? Maybe…you could even choose to discuss something a bit more meaningful, like, say, climate change?” As she spoke, she casually shifted her hand, just a bit. Now two fingers were resting against Miranda’s neck.

As she continued to banter with Cassidy and Caroline, Andy realized she was just babbling. She had became acutely aware of her fingers, and Miranda’s warm skin, and not much else. The rest of the room started to drift away, the voices around her, including her own, distant echoes in her head.

Andrea struggled to account for her sudden heightened senses, this overwhelming awareness of Miranda’s proximity to her. Why was she feeling such teenage-like awkwardness at a little physical contact with Miranda? It’s not as if they never touched each other.

Cassidy bounced back off the couch and began demoing hiphop dance moves around her sister while Caroline continued the detailed legal deposition on accessory trendsetting in a middle school environment. Seemingly immune to all the commotion, Miranda continued to aptly ignore the other occupants of the room. She turned on her side and reached over to the coffee table to grab her red pen and post-it notes. When she returned to her former position, Andy’s hand was no longer quite touching her.

Andy immediately felt bereft, and flushed with embarrassment. Miranda could obviously sense what was going on with her, and this was her way of gently putting Andy back in her place. Or so she thought. Until it became apparent that Miranda wasn’t quite done resituating herself. As she continued to make herself comfortable, Miranda scooted further toward the back of the couch, eyes still firmly on her magazine. When her neck found Andy’s hand again, she settled down once more, and there she stayed.

Andy eyes drifted half shut. She wasn’t listening at all as the twins’ voices continued to dance around her. She was acutely aware of her body’s response to the simple, tiny connection of her hand to Miranda’s skin. As she moved her thumb against Miranda’s neck almost imperceptibly, she couldn’t mistake the sensation pooling in her belly, and lower, and the strength of it confused her. Yet she found she could do nothing else but sit there and sink deeper into the flood of feelings.

And then the doorbell rang. ‘Well, of course,’ thought Andy.

Caroline ran to the front door, and they heard her shout, “It’s Aunt Susan!”

Susan Halbard was an old friend of Miranda’s, a textile maker from southern Georgia who had met Miranda not long after her career in fashion began. Miranda peeled herself off the couch and strolled to the door to welcome her friend.

Susan’s entrance came with a cacophony of exclamations and loud teenage news updates crossing declarations of love and heartfelt hugs between two kindred souls who had watched each other mature, and then some.

“I thought you weren’t here until Friday.” Miranda could almost be described as grinning, thought Andy.

The cross-conversations continued as each Priestly attempted to monopolize Susan’s attention.

“I must show you these socks, Susan, incredible naalbinding. A Scandinavian technique. The wool is from an Amish farm in Cattaraugus County, western New York.”

“I’ll grab them,” said Andy, who, despite the unwanted interruption, was enjoying watching all of her charges so happily engaged with their beloved family friend.

“There should be three pairs in that bottom left drawer,” said Miranda, “unless they’re still in the laundry.”

“No, I’m pretty sure Meryl washed everything.” Andy replied.

Susan looked back and forth between Miranda and Andy, a small, curious smile on her face.

Bounding up the stairs toward Miranda’s bedroom, Andy stopped on the first landing to yell down, “Do you want that pair with the frogs that we got for Cassidy?”

“Oh, that’s right. Those were a very nice tight stitch,” murmured Miranda. “Yes, see if you can find those, too,” she called up to Andy.

“So,” said Susan, “I see you and your - what is she now? Junior Editor? - have grown pretty close since the last time I saw you.”

“Oh, what are you going on about, Susan…” Miranda waved her hand dismissively.

But Susan was not so easily put off. “Well, I don’t know many assistants who are quite so familiar with the contents of their boss’ sock drawer.”

“As you well know, my assistants are exposed to the most mundane details of my life. It’s a curse they all bear,” smirked Miranda.

“Hmmm,” was all that Susan said. She would let this one slide, for the moment.

An hour later, they were all in the kitchen preparing toppings for homemade pizzas. While she deftly shaved slices of portabella mushroom and parried questions from the twins about her new kittens and her cow, Daisy, Susan quietly observed Miranda and Andy from across the kitchen. When Miranda asked Andy if she had “once again forgotten the red peppers,” Andy threw her a disgruntled face, picked up a pepper slice and proceeded to poke Miranda’s mouth with it until she opened up and accepted it with a smirk. Susan noted that as they worked together, they stood closer than strictly necessary, shoulders and hips bumping as they reached across each other’s work spaces. She shook her head and smiled ruefully to herself.

A bit later, she found herself helping Andy prep the dough. “So, young lady, I’ve been keeping an eye out for your byline the last six months.”

Andy blushed. “How did you even know I was writing now?”

“Well, I don’t think I could help but know as I am kept up on Andrea’s antics quite as frequently as Cassidy and Caroline’s these days.” She looked meaningfully at Andy. If it was possible, Andy blushed even harder. “She’s very proud of you, you know.” Andy dusted the board with more flour and kept silent. She looked happy, though.

“You look happy.” Susan never hesitated to state the obvious. Keeps the conversation going. “You both do.”

Andy looked up at her, her expression more serious now. “I am happy.” She paused. “I love these guys.” She glanced over at the three Priestlys working away together, then back to Susan, holding her gaze as if waiting for something. Susan reached down and squeezed her hand.

“Not as much as they love you.”

Andy smiled.


	5. Penny boards and....just a little bit more.

“I don’t want an email from you people, I want to purchase a sweater.” Miranda raised her voice just enough to visibly frighten the young woman at the cash register. Andy put her hand on her arm and whispered into her ear. Miranda yanked her arm away from Andy fitfully and then strode away from the counter. Andy turned to the young woman and smiled.

“I’ll finish up here. Is it ok if we don’t give an email address?” The girl nodded quickly. She took the credit card from Andy and continued ringing up the order.

As tame as the dragon might be with Andy by her side, she was still prone to sudden outbursts on occasion. They no longer intimidated Andy. Her patience with Miranda’s callous remarks and temper tantrums had grown in particular after one late-night half-drunken conversation in Miranda’s living room in which Miranda admitted that she hated how out of control she felt when her temper struck. She intimated that she believed it was a part of her personality that emerged in response to certain events in her childhood. She didn’t explain in detail, but Andy could see from the way she refused to meet her eyes when she spoke of it that it was something she had buried very purposefully and with good reason. Andy’s heart clenched to see her still so vulnerable to memories that were a half century old. It perhaps explained her overprotectiveness, and overindulgence of the twins.

Andy wanted to understand everything that made Miranda Miranda, but she would be patient and wait for the full story to emerge when she was ready. Patience. It was this young woman’s patience, that had grown out of understanding rather than the sheer terror that Miranda evoked from most, that had grown to be the most steadying influence in the editor's life.

As they left the store, Miranda, still appearing flustered and unwilling to make eye contact with Andy, looked left and right for a cab to hail. She held her hand out just to watch a taxi fly past when Andy put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, would you mind if we stopped at the candy store? I wanted to get those caramels for Nigel.”

Still unwilling to look her in the eye, Miranda nodded her assent, but added, “As long as we don’t take all day,” as she strode off toward Third Avenue. Andy smirked, following after, and called to her back, “Yeah, like you don’t want to go too. Don’t think I don’t know you’re jonesing for some crayola sours.”

As Andy caught up to Miranda and matched her stride, Miranda finally turned her head to look at her shopping companion. She reached over to adjust Andy’s scarf which was slipping off her shoulder, without slowing her step. She chose not to dignify Andy’s accusation with a response.

Miranda suddenly shifted her bag to her left arm and groped for her phone with the other. The twins were calling. “Yes, Bobbsey.” Miranda paused. “Yes, that’s fine. I know, I’m sure you are. Yes, we’ll meet you there in 45 minutes, we have one more errand to run. Yes, be careful. Love you.” Miranda hung up the phone.

“We’re meeting them at Cop Cot. They said they want to try out their new penny boards and show us their _skills._ ” Miranda placed emphasis on the final word, throwing up sarcastic air quotes with just her tone of voice as she put her phone back in her bag. Andy grinned.

“They’re gonna want to make you try it, you know.”

“Yes, that’s just what a senior citizen like me needs, a ride on a hip breaking machine. I don’t think so. I’ll leave that up to the three children of the group.” As they strode into the store, Miranda took a casual left turn toward the sour candy aisle while Andy was distracted by a new display of Minions candy.

 

* * *

The sun was shining brightly as Miranda and Andy entered the southern end of Central Park and headed toward the meeting place. As they drew near the gazebo, they spotted the twins. Cassidy was holding Patricia’s leash while Caroline attempted what Andy could only guess was an unsuccessful ollie on her board.

“I’m going down the hill,” said Caroline, motioning down the path that ran toward 59th Street, ever the exhibitionist. As she and her board picked up speed, her twin, her mother, and Andy seemed to watch with a matching sense of trepidation that was not unfounded. Caroline and her penny board had a sudden, unexpected introduction with a diminutive rock that was just big enough to stop the small board in its tracks and send its rider hurtling through the air, hands shooting out to stop her fall.

They were running towards Caroline before she even had time to collect her thoughts and process the fact that all was not right with her world. Then her face crumpled.

Andy could tell that things were not good well before she reached the girl and her skateboard. It might have been the unnatural angle of Caroline’s hand resting on the pavement. Andy looked back toward Miranda without slowing her step and shouted, “Call an ambulance!”

Miranda barked instructions into her phone while Andy put on her best game face and tried to convince Caroline that everything was ok (or would be, at some point), while at the same time making sure she didn’t move an inch. Andy held Caroline’s head in her lap and murmured comforting words to the tearful girl while Miranda, still on the phone, looked around worriedly, searching for any sign of an emergency vehicle. Several very long minutes later, they heard sirens and an ambulance pulled up the drive, Miranda and several passers by waving them toward Caroline.

Andy rode back in the ambulance with the patient while Miranda followed with Cassidy and Patricia in a taxi. While the nurses calmly readied Caroline for her X-ray, Andy grilled them about exactly who would be setting the arm. Miranda looked on as Andy proceeded to search the internet for any and all reviews of the attending physician. Satisfied that he would do, Andy again asked Caroline if she was alright and if she wanted her to ask the nurse for more painkillers. Sniffling, Caroline shook her head to indicate she was ok, though she was still white as a ghost with eyes red and puffy from crying. Cassidy held her hand while Miranda called her father to update him.

 

* * *

It was after 10:00 pm, and the twins, exhausted from the events of the day, had long ago been willingly sent to their bedrooms to get some sleep. Miranda entered Caroline’s darkened room and sat softly behind Andrea, whose hand was resting on a sleeping Caroline's cast. She wrapped her left arm loosely around Andy's middle and rested her right hand on her shoulder.

It hadn’t escaped Miranda that although Andy was a rock throughout the ordeal, she had been almost as upset by the traumatic incident as Caroline. Andy turned her head back toward Miranda's and whispered, "I can't believe our baby has a broken arm." Miranda placed her hand over Andy's on the cast and rubbed back and forth with her thumb. "Stop fretting," she whispered, "she's fine." They sat there for another moment. "Come now, let's have a glass of wine. We deserve it after all this commotion today."

They stood together and quietly left the room, Miranda's hand at the small of Andy's back. As she gently closed the door behind them, Miranda admonished Andy. "I won't have you upsetting yourself for no reason. Caroline will be perfectly fine." As she was saying this, Miranda turned Andy around by the arm in the dimly lit hallway and curved her arms around her to hold her, protectively. This sign of affection was not unprecedented. Miranda had held Andy like this when her grandmother died, and again when she was in tears because of something Cassidy had said in a fitful moment, something about her not being her mother, not being important. (Miranda was used to carelessly cutting remarks from her tweens, most of which they did not mean, but Andrea could still be vulnerable to their moody outbursts.) Miranda sensed Andy’s fragility now that the stress of the afternoon had all but burnt out, and she felt an almost fierce surge of protectiveness well up in her chest in response.

"But what if we hadn't been there with her?"

"We were. And it's not as if she's helpless, you know. She seems to have a way of enlisting plenty of assistance whenever she needs it."

Andy snorted against Miranda's shoulder. "That's true." They rested a moment, Miranda's left arm wrapped around Andy's waist, her right arm against her back and her right hand holding Andy's head against her.

"You take very good care of the girls, Andrea." Miranda paused and breathed in the scent of Andy's shampoo. "They're very lucky to have you. They know that, you know."

Andy's only reply was to rub her face almost imperceptibly against Miranda's neck. And then after a breath she said softly, "I take good care of you, too." And she rubbed her nose gently against Miranda's neck again.

Miranda swallowed thickly. "You take very good care of me. Exceptional care." Miranda felt Andy's breath shifting, becoming slightly faster. She didn't dare move. She tried desperately to control her own breath.

"Better than anyone else," murmured Andy, still buried against her neck.

"No one else could possibly take better care of me, ever," Miranda calmly affirmed. And still, she held stock still.

Andy's mouth shifted closer to Miranda's ear. She paused. And then she said, just a whisper, "I don't want anyone else taking care of you." Another brief pause. "Just me." A shallow breath and then, "Ok? Just me."

"Yes." Miranda stopped trying to slow her increasingly rapid breathing. She might as well try to stop the earth from turning. She was helpless, falling.

"Just me."

"Just you. No one else." As Miranda said the words, a tight band of electricity ran through her as she finally admitted this truth, and along with it, everything else that she had been too scared to admit to Andrea and to herself. But underneath the jolt was an even stronger undercurrent, a steady, subtle but deep knowing that she now understood had always been present, from the beginning. And so even as she felt turned on like never before, she was grounded, held strong to the earth by the feeling that what she and Andrea had was more than just this incredible attraction, this flush of feeling and confusion and elation.

Their breath deepened even more, and Miranda's mouth moved steadily toward Andy's. She couldn't believe this was happening. And yet it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Their open mouths moved gently, so slowly, against each other as each breathed the other in, eyes closed and breaths shallow. Suddenly, Miranda found herself closing her lips around Andy’s soft bottom lip, pulling until it slipped away from her and she felt the sudden keen loss. She did it again. And again. Andrea’s lips were a marvel. A wonder. It seemed to Miranda that this was something she could continue to do quite happily for the remainder of her existence on earth. She softly moaned. And then she realized she wanted more. She needed more. As she slipped her tongue into Andy’s mouth, searching, the unbelievable sensation - this was Andrea’s mouth, she was inside Andrea’s mouth - was magnified a thousandfold when she heard Andy’s desperate whimper in response. The sound seemed to reverberate through Miranda’s core. That was it, that was it. It was over. That sound. She would dedicate the rest of her life to making Andrea make that sound. Just her, and no one else.

She finally pulled away, breathing hard, and looked into Andy’s upturned eyes, glazed, dark and hooded. Miranda whispered two words: “You’re mine.” It wasn’t a command, or a claim. It was an admission. A prayer. And then she was on her again, hungry, desperate, for what she didn’t even know. How strange this was, she was able to think in a brief moment of clarity. All those years she thought she knew. Fumbling in the dark, so much thinking, wondering what the other person wanted, if she was doing something right, listening for cues, waiting for them to be satisfied, wondering if she would be satisfied. This was so…so…primal. She just needed to touch Andrea, everywhere, and all at once. And she couldn’t stop.


End file.
